“Thanks,” the girl breathes before she turns around and spots me, dressed in casual clothes and standing barefoot on the cool pavement. “Oh.” Her breath releases in a rush as she looks me over. “You’re the missing girl, huh? Parrish Vanguard’s sister?”
I cringe a bit at that. I’d been sort of hoping that I could sneak into the student populace unnoticed. But, apparently, my reputation precedes me.
“That’s me,” I reply, forcing a smile that I don’t feel on the inside. Fake it till you make it. I’m really trying here, I am. But maybe I need to try harder. I owe that to my grandparents; I promised them. So I don’t correct the girl about being Parrish’s sister. “My err, new stepbrother sort of left me high and dry here.”
“You seem to be in need of some shoes,” the girl replies cheerily, perking up. “Danyella.” She extends her hand as I shift the box into the crook of my elbow and offer my own up. Her palm is warm and smooth, her grip firm and self-assured. I spy a potential friend right off the bat. “Here.”
Danyella opens the back door of her car and garbage spills out on the pavement as I chuckle.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ve been meaning to clean this thing out …” She shoves aside stacks of papers, bags of glitter spilling gold across her hands, as bits and pieces of brightly colored fabric scraps tumble to the pavement. “I’ve just been so busy with the production.”
“The production?” I ask, hope filling me. I was always involved with art clubs and shit at my old school. I wasn’t sure if they even had any here. I mean, I know it’s a pompous rich-people academy and all that, but I wasn’t sure spoiled assholes like Parrish or Chasm would be cool with long nights painting scenery or sewing costumes; I figured they might hire stuff like that out.
“We’re doing Wicked this year, Hamilton next.” Danyella makes a sound of triumph and then stands back up. Next thing I know, she’s taking the box from me and setting it on the roof of her car. She throws a black blazer around my shoulders and stands back with a satisfied smile.
“There. That’ll help make you a bit less noticeable.”
I realize suddenly as I blush and mutter my thanks that I haven’t actually introduced myself.
“I’m Dakota Banks,” I blurt and Danyella laughs. Her braided hair is studded with bows, most of which seem to be themed. I recognize a pale blue Dear Evan Hansen one right away. And there, on the opposite side, one with the SIX logo in the center. Clearly, this girl is a fan of musical theater.
Thank the heavens.
“I know who you are,” she reminds me, but not unkindly. “The long-lost daughter of renowned true crime novelist, Tess Vanguard.” Danyella flashes a white-toothed grin. “In my arms she once rested; in the darkness I weep and hold only her ghost.”
I flinch like I’ve been slapped, and Danyella grimaces. She’s only quoting one of the more popular lines from Tess’ most famous book—the one that’s about me—which was a New York Times bestseller for fifty weeks straight. It sold over four million copies in its first year of publication alone and almost twenty million copies in the decade that followed.
“Sorry,” Danyella begins at the same time that I wave my hand dismissively. I’m already wondering if it isn’t too forward to ask her if I might use her phone for a second.
Not sure, exactly, who I’m going to call since I don’t know Tess’ number, but maybe I could get a cab or an Uber or something to take me back to the house?
Only … I guess I don’t know the address of that either.
Crap.
“It’s okay,” I say, even though it’s not. I used to love Abducted Under a Noonday Sun. It was the first book I ever read of Tess’, and a frequent reread for me. Now, I can barely stand looking at the cover. Somehow, finding out that I’m the true story that it’s based on makes it unbearable.
“No, it’s not,” she says, opening her trunk and revealing nearly two dozen boxes of what seem to be brand-new shoes. She gives me a look over her shoulder and then shrugs. “I’m sure you’ve had to put up with people in your business for weeks now; I don’t need to add to your discomfort.” She digs around for a moment, checking the sizes on the boxes, and then looks back at me again. “What are you, a size seven? Seven and a half?”
I lift a brow and nod as Danyella chuckles.
“Seven. Damn, you’re good,” I tell her as she lifts a lid on one of the boxes and the edge of her lip quirks up in amusement.
“My parents own a bunch of online shoe retailers,” she tells me, handing over the box. “That, and a snooty flagship store in Seattle; they make me work there on the weekends for minimum wage.” Danyella rolls her eyes as I sit down on the pavement, opening the lid on the shoes and choking out a laugh as I lift up a red patent leather pump. “They say it teaches character or … something.” She lifts her chin in my direction when she notices my expression of terror. “Only pair in your size, I’m afraid.”
“These must be expensive,” I hazard, sucking my lower lip under my teeth as I debate putting my dirty feet into the luxury heels. “I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you back …” It occurs to me then that I could probably ask Tess for the money, and that she’d probably give it to me. Then again, she just about went full dragon on me this morning for daring to eat a scone that didn’t belong to me, so who knows?
“No need. I’m supposed to drop all of these off at the women’s shelter after school anyway. We donate shoes with imperfections.” She points to a dark scuff on the side of one heel and then shrugs. “They distribute the most practical shoes to women seeking assistance, and the rest get sold in their thrift store.”
I actually feel more—rather than less—guilty for taking the shoes, but since I’m not keen on walking around barefoot, I put them on as Danyella gathers the shoebox and tosses the garbage into the trunk of her car. She offers her hand to help me up and I take it, wobbling for a minute before I find my feet.
“So, where are we taking this?” I ask as I grab the original box from the car’s roof and tuck it under my arm again. I’ve only ever worn heels a handful of times. I’m going to have to really work to not break an ankle.
Danyella grins, gathers her book bag, and slams the back door of her old Geo so hard that it shudders like it’s in the throes of a death rattle. The door gets caught and she braces herself against the pavement so that she can try and jamb it closed with her left hip.
“To the theater,” she tells me with a sharp nod, giving her car a death glare as we start off in the direction that Parrish and Chasm went.
“You know, you’re the only person here with a car that doesn’t cost more than a house,” I start and Danyella laughs. “That’s how I knew we could be friends.”
She gives me that award winning smile of hers again, tugging on her blazer in a futile attempt to straighten out the wrinkles.
“My parents believe in rewarding hard work, not birthright.” She shrugs and shakes her head. “I’m working to save up for an Altima.” I raise a brow and she gives me a wink in response. “I know, right? Not very glamorous. My mom drives a Maserati, but she doesn’t want me to turn out like …” We pause near the upper exit of the parking garage, looking out at the sea of students laughing and lounging on the half-wall of the third story courtyard outside the towering walls of the academy.
Danyella doesn’t need to finish her sentence; we both know what she means.
So, Danyella is just as rich as the rest of the students here. I should’ve guessed as much.
“Welcome to hell,” she announces before starting off down the white stone walk toward the side doors. A quick glance over the short wall on my left shows a plummeting drop to the emerald green lawn below. I shiver and stand back up, only to realize that everyone’s gone quiet.
They’re all staring at me.
I stop walking, suddenly aware of all the eyes on me.
Crap, crap, and triple crap.
“Eyes to yourselves,” Danyella snaps, reaching down to grab my hand so she ca
n drag me along behind her. “Nothing to see here.”
“You don’t get to put dibs on the new girl,” someone says. I glance over and find a honey-haired white girl with eyes the color of the earth. “Although, after looking at her, I think she may be just up your alley.”
It takes me a second to ascertain whether that was meant to be an insult or not. But then the girl smiles and holds out a hand for me to shake.
“Lumen,” she says as I take her hand and several of the other students shuffle closer. “You must be Mia.”
I swallow back the sharp stab of pain that name dredges up in me.
“Dakota, actually,” I say, waving my right hand around dismissively as I prop the box on my hip. I can’t help thinking about Parrish’s stupid TikTok where he called me a three. I hate that I’m meeting these people and instead of starting with a fresh slate, I’m wondering if they’ve seen it. Or worse, if they agree. Worst of all, I shouldn’t’ care and yet … I do. “Mia’s just my birth name,” I add, and much to my surprise, Lumen nods.
“Your brother is on a mission to destroy you. Just thought you should know.” She shrugs her shoulders as Danyella grabs my hand again and pulls me toward the door. “But don’t worry: I’ll do my best to keep him in line.”
Danyella finally succeeds in moving me toward the door as my cheeks heat and yet another crowd of students turns to gawk my way.
“Is Lumen nice?” I ask, because for some reason, I trust Danyella’s opinion on the matter. We’re birds of a feather, that much I can tell already.
“She’s alright,” she admits, but almost grudgingly. “She’s also been slobbering after Parrish for years. I wouldn’t call her a mean girl or anything, but I also wouldn’t confess my deepest secrets to her, you know?”
There’s something in Danyella’s voice that speaks to experience and pain. Seeing as I just met the girl ten minutes ago, it isn’t my place to ask, but I file away her statement for later.
Glancing down at the box, I realize suddenly that it holds a bunch of props. I recognize Elphaba’s glasses and knitted blue hat from Wicked, along with a wand that must belong to Glinda. A smile twitches at the edge of my lips, just before Danyella comes to an abrupt stop and I glance up to see an administrator gliding our way with purpose.
Uh-oh.
“The cavalry has arrived,” Danyella murmurs, taking the box from me. She manages to hook her book bag over one shoulder, propping the box under her right arm. “Find me on online later and we’ll figure out a spot to meet up on your first day. For now, I’ve got to jet. The bows aren’t really in the dress code.” She points at her hair and then disappears inside a set of double doors on our left.
I catch the briefest glimpse of the theater, all stained-glass windows and long, crimson curtains, and my mouth waters. Real architecture, character, and history. It’s basically the opposite of the Vanguard’s house.
“Can I help you?” the woman asks as she pauses in front of me, taking in my borrowed blazer with the sequins on the lapels. The next thing she notices are my shoes, the red heels that I borrowed from Danyella. “I see you’ve met the president of our drama club,” the woman adds dryly with a long-suffering sigh. “You must be Mia Patterson.”
I grit my teeth, breathe out through my nose, breathe in again to calm myself.
“I go by Dakota Banks,” I offer, plastering on a smile to soften the gentle rebuke.
“We weren’t expecting you until the Monday after next,” the woman adds, looking me over again, like she isn’t quite sure what to make of me. She has a slight accent, but I can’t discern what it is.
“I’m here for the tour,” I say, knowing full well that I’m scheduled to meet with the headmistress on the twenty-eighth. I can’t very well admit the reality of my situation, now can I? Yeah, sorry, I accidentally ended up in the back of my stepbrother’s car, shoeless and on the verge of tears because I have nowhere else to go, and my birth mother who I just met chastised me for eating pastries belonging to my shiny new stepdad just after insisting that I make myself at home and then doing absolutely nothing to make me feel that way.
I keep smiling, even though the expression hurts my face. Forced smile number one-thousand and two.
“Well, I suppose this works as well as any other morning,” the woman muses, smiling back at me. Her raven dark hair is twisted into a bun at the back of her head, and her lipstick is the color of blood. I like her right away. “Yuki Miyamoto,” she says with a small exhale. “I’m the headmistress’ assistant. Do you happen to have your phone on you? We could get you logged into the student portal and have a look at your class schedule.”
Yuki starts walking, and I struggle to catch up in the heels. I’ve worn high heels exactly four times in my entire life: once to my great aunt’s funeral, once on Halloween, and to two of my grandmother’s boring doctor conferences. I wouldn’t exactly call myself an expert.
“I actually … don’t.” I give Yuki a look and see her struggling to hold back a smile.
“I thought you kids kept your phones glued to your palms,” she muses and then briefly shrugs her shoulders. “No matter. Let’s pop down to the office, shall we?”
She guides me down the cavernous hallway as I lift my gaze to the vaulted ceilings and the leaded glass three stories above our heads. Early morning sunshine filters in, making the stone floors shine prettily.
We pause outside a small elevator, and I watch in surprise as Yuki—er, Ms. Miyamoto—pulls out a keycard and swipes it before pressing the call button.
We head down to the basement level and step into an office with stone walls that look so oddly medieval against the desks and bookcases arranged neatly near the front of the room that I stop right where I am.
Ms. Miyamoto asks me a few questions—name, birthday, the usual—and then frowns when she can’t find me in the system.
“You might be listed under Mia Patterson,” she adds apologetically, and my heart drops. Even then, she can’t find me in the computer.
That’s when it occurs to me: my birthday is probably wrong, too.
“I …” I start, but the words won’t come out. I can’t seem to make myself admit that I have no idea what my real birthday is. For my entire life, it was October twenty-fourth, just a week before Halloween and usually involving costumes and skeleton decorations and candy. Well, except for last year. Last year, we partied at the cemetery. My grandparents were not pleased.
“No matter,” Ms. Miyamoto says, and after a moment, she finds me in the system anyway and prints out a paper schedule. Just looking at it makes me sick. The school day here is arranged so differently that I may as well be in a different country; the culture shock is real.
Without another word about the birthday and name mix up, Ms. Miyamoto starts the tour by taking me up in the elevator to the first floor.
We’ve barely begun when I hear someone yelling from down the hall.
“Mia!”
The voice is frantic, almost shattered. Just the sound of it makes my head and heart ache. I don’t need to turn around to know that it’s Tess.
Shit.
If I’d thought the students were staring at me before, they were really just glancing my way. Now, they’re all outright gaping.
“Mia!” Tess almost stumbles in her haste to get to me, throwing her arms around me as a relieved sob overtakes her. She grabs my face, mascara bleeding down her cheeks. I notice her husband, Paul, striding down the hall toward us. “Oh my god, I’m so relieved,” Tess breathes, breaking away from me to brace a hand on the wall.
My cheeks flush with heat and my skin prickles with goose bumps. I can’t bear to look at any of the other students, so I flick my attention over to Ms. Miyamoto instead.
The bell rings as she turns her attention to the gathering crowd.
“Alright, that’s enough of that. Off to class,” she commands, her voice sharp and authoritative. “She repeats herself in another language, and it only takes me a second to recognize t
hat she’s speaking Japanese.
My excitement at that—Ms. Miyamoto teaches the only foreign language class offered on-campus which I just so happen to be enrolled in—fades as soon as I catch sight of Parrish and Chasm at the edge of the crowd.
“Is everything okay, Mrs. Vanguard?” Ms. Miyamoto asks, turning her attention back to Tess.
She’s breathing heavily as Paul rubs her back in small circles, his lips thin and tight. Tess, on the other hand, looks like she’s on the verge of a full-blown panic attack.
“I …” Tess begins, turning her familiar brown eyes over to mine. The fear shadowing them almost staggers me, and I take a small step back. My own fear takes root in my belly, crawling up my throat in the form of acid reflux as I start to realize something so terrifying, I can barely put a name to it. “Mia disappeared from the house, and she wasn’t answering her phone …” Tess trails off and, as if she’s realized what a spectacle she’s making, stands up straight and lifts her chin proudly. “I apologize for my behavior, Ms. Miyamoto.” I watch as her face shifts from fear and melancholy to anger. “It’s just … the last time my daughter went missing, I didn’t see her for fourteen years.”
Yuki’s face softens slightly as my heart thunders and blood roars in my ears. I glance over to find that the hall has emptied of everyone but Parrish. Even Chasm is gone.
Our eyes meet and he briefly smirks at me before moving up to put a hand on Tess’ shoulder.
“Don’t cry, Mom,” he says, the cruelty and derisive apathy stripped from his voice for a brief moment.
The look she throws him makes him take a step back.
“You told me you had no idea where your sister was,” Tess begins as Paul steps up beside her like an honor guard. “You lied to me, Parrish.”
The color drains from his face as he flicks an evil glare my direction.
“She hid in the backseat of my car. How the hell was I supposed to know where she was?” he lies while I stand there gawping at him.
“Are you kidding me?!” I choke out as Tess turns back to me and her eyes waver between relief and righteous anger.
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